Chapter 6:

A Fabricated Life

8th July, 1957

Hogwarts

At long last, Hermione received a rather large package from the Time Department. She had been at the end of the jetty again, toes in the water, and book in hand – Minerva had kindly let her borrow Pride and Prejudice, which she was very grateful for – when a large barn owl had started pecking at the sleeves of her blouse rather impatiently. "Oh! Hello," she said to the bird, having been so distracted by Mr. Darcy that she hadn't noticed the winged creature's arrival. She carefully untied the envelope from the owl's leg, rather daunted by the size of it. Fabricating a life required a lot of parchment and, if she wasn't mistaken, several small books. With his job done, the bird flew off, and Hermione returned her focus to what the Time Department had sent.

The parchment envelope, she had to admit, was rather overly-embellished, with gold filigree pressed into the borders, and stamped with an ornate Time Department – M. O. M wax seal in signature royal purple. It was almost too pretty to crack.

With the wind picking up, Hermione decided to head back indoors, lest anything be blown away. Albus had been kind enough to let her stay in the Hogwarts guest quarters now that her injuries were mostly healed, which meant a large living space, double bed and a small kitchenette. It was much nicer than being in the Hospital Wing all the time, she had to admit. After saying the password to her rooms – hopscotch – the portrait of Wendelin the Weird swung forward to let her in. By the time she had sat on the small settee, the wax seal was broken and Hermione read over Yelena's letter, frowning within seconds.

Dear Miss Gray,

Your citizenship request has been approved by the Magical Immigration Department. Enclosed is a birth certificate, passport, bank account information, travel documents, education certificates and a basic back-story in the name of Jean Cecilia Gray.

Unfortunately, due to your past involvement in anti-Government resistance groups, you failed the risk assessment, and as such, you will need to prove yourself to be a safe member of the community before your Masteries and titles will be reinstated. At this time, there is no limit as to how long that will take, however as long as you abide by the law and report for check-ins, it should be no issue after 5 years.

Should you be interested, there's additional information on settling in to life in 1957, as well as tips on potential security measures you can take to protect your real identity. Along with that, there are coupons and other vouchers to help get you set up, and a sum of 30 Galleons has been placed in a Gringotts account for you.

Assuming you are still here, your first check-in is scheduled for the 4th of November, 1957 at 3pm.

If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Sincerely,

Madam Yelena Artlock

Time Department; Department of Mysteries

Ministry of Magic

Hermione glowered at the offending piece of parchment as she let out a feral groan. A risk to the community? Seriously? She'd told Yelena that she'd nearly died trying to save said community in the future, how on earth had that been miscommunicated? She threw the letter across the room with a scowl on her face, tempted to incinerate it on the spot. However, as she looked at her lap, she noticed a small piece of parchment, also covered in Yelena's writing. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up to see what more salt the woman could rub into her wounds.

Jean – I'm so sorry, I tried appealing to the MID, but since Grindelwald, there are a lot of safety precautions around refugees with complex magical history. I've been fighting for the past week to get them to reconsider their 'risk assessment' results, which is why it's taken me so long to get all this to you, but to no avail.

I haven't given up, nor have the rest of my team. I'll be trying to get you a job worthy of your abilities as soon as humanly possible. Until then, keep your head down and avoid trouble at all costs.

No word yet from your Time. If/when they make contact, I'll let you know immediately.

Also, the French tutor mentioned in the back-story, Madame Nanette Dufort, is a friend of mine, and has agreed to vouch for you should anyone come asking. Feel free to write should you want to get to know her to make your story plausible, or come and visit me.

Let me know how you get on with living arrangements and job searching – I'll need to update your files with the necessary information, at any rate. If you have any trouble, or if money ever becomes an issue, I'm just an owl away and will be more than happy to help.

-Yelena

After reading Yelena's personal note, Hermione redirected her anger to Immigration, rather than the Time Department. She was honestly flattered the Unspeakable had been petitioning her case for the past week, and she finally smiled. It's not so bad, she thought. She had a job and a room waiting for her in Hosgmeade as soon as she was ready, and as long as she had the Time Department on her side, she felt safe and secure in the knowledge that she would be looked after if anything happened. She also felt slightly sorry for the Immigration Department – Unspeakables were not people you wanted to anger, a fact that cheered her up marginally.

Very curious as to the fabricated back-story that would become her identity, Hermione tipped the rest of the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table. She spread everything out messily, finally finding the file labelled Jean Cecilia Gray – History. Raising an eyebrow at the chosen middle name, she pulled out the piece of parchment and began to read.

Jean Cecilia Gray, born September 19th, 1935, in London, England, to Mr. Walter Gerald Gray (1901 – 1957) and Mrs. Cecilia Katherine Gray, nee Miles (1906 – 1957), is a Muggle-born witch, currently residing near Hogsmeade, Scotland. Her father was an accountant, and her mother worked as his receptionist. She lived in Brighton, England, until the age of three before moving to Paris, France, with her parents, where she stayed until June, 1957. A muggle-born witch, Jean's parents were hesitant to send her to Beauxbattons, and instead opted to pay for private tutoring in the magical arts with the esteemed Madame Nanette Dufort from the age of 11 – 18.

A talented student, Jean excelled in her classes, earning top marks in all exams, and then dedicated herself to earning three masteries via correspondence courses.

On 2nd of January, 1957, Mr. and Mrs. Gray were killed in an auto-mobile accident, while Jean survived, albeit with many injuries. Once healed, Jean left France and came home to Britain, to try for a new life. On June 30th, 1957, new friend Minerva McGonagall was showing her the Hogwarts grounds when she slipped on rocks at the edge of the Great Lake. Minerva brought her to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where a Healer was on hand to assist immediately.

"Well then," Hermione murmured, now familiar with her new life; an orphan, in Britain, mourning her parents and wanting a fresh start. She figured it was easy enough to stick to – she'd flesh out some of the finer details later; a childhood home, maybe a teenage romance, how her family survived the war, invent some friends from Paris... If she was to meet Minerva's friends later that weekend, she needed to have something to tell them of herself – and she'd need to keep her story straight. She was suddenly quite grateful for the childhood acting classes she had been forced to go to.

Next, she looked at a small booklet on information pertaining to Muggle and Magical Britain, with histories of the Prime Minister, and Minister for Magic, what the financial market was like and major recent events, along with details on the Royal Family and other public figures of both muggle and magical origin. As always, she completely ignored what was going on with Quidditch – she figured that if there was anything remotely important she needed to know, Minerva would tell her, given her slight obsession with the sport.

There were several other books, including one called The Laws of Time Travel which Hermione was already very familiar with from her third year, and one all about Eloise Mintumble's experiments. A pamphlet titled Protect Yourself caught her eye and, with 'constant vigilance' echoing in her mind, she picked it up. It detailed some security measures a time traveller might take, should they not want to be recognised in photographs, like human transfiguration. However, she frowned at how simply it was mentioned – transfiguring bone was complex and easy to fail at, yet glamour charms were merely mentioned as a side-note. This is a law suit waiting to happen, she thought grimly.

Still, she read on about the advantages of changing her appearance. While she rather liked her face these days, the new hairstyle suggestion had merit, especially if she were to work in The Three Broomsticks. She would, inevitably, run into someone she knows from the future, especially if – Merlin forbid – she was still here come September. Well, I've always wanted to try dark brown hair, she thought, throwing the pamphlet aside and trying to picture it instead of her messy light brown curls. If she teamed it with make-up like Minerva's, then she would certainly look very unHermione-like. She wasn't one for eye-liner and lipstick; it seemed that Jean Gray might have to be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Wendelin, clearing her throat loudly. "Minerva's visiting again," she announced. "And tapping her foot impatiently, I might add."

"She does that," Hermione laughed as she stood up and, after summoning back the official Time Department from the floor where she threw it and placing it back on the coffee table, she walked over to the door, glad to have some company. Considering Minerva was involved in Jean's back-story, Hermione guessed it would be fair to at least show her what she'd signed up for. "Hey," she said, opening the door, smiling at the Transfiguration Professor, who had bought with her some pastries from the kitchens.

"Hey yourself," Minerva said, as Hermione stepped aside to let her in. "I saw the owl drop off a package for you at the lake. Are you a real person yet?" she asked sardonically, sitting down on the settee and clearing a space on the coffee table for the food.

"I am," Hermione replied in exaggerated wonder. "Jean Cecilia Gray," she said, with a grin.

Minerva smirked, and held out her hand. "Minerva Isobel McGonagall. Delighted, darling," she laughed, as Hermione shook her hand. "May I?" she asked, noticing the file.

At Hermione's nod, she read over it quickly, eyebrows raising every now and then. By the end, she was frowning slightly, and looked at Hermione apologetically. "Jean, I-" she began, seemingly struggling for words. "Look, I just want you to know, I'm not just your friend because I have to be, or because Yelena and Albus told me to. It may have taken me a day or two to warm up to you, I admit that. But I'm your friend because I want to be. Just so we're clear, yeah?"

Hermione's eyes widened at the declaration – she was touched. She had been worried since the beginning that Minerva was being forced into this out of obligation, so to hear her reassure her so genuinely made her heart melt. "Gotcha," Hermione smiled, trying to keep her voice strong, even though she felt quite emotional as she sat down next to her friend. "You actually like me."

"I do," Minerva confirmed softly. "I may not know your real name, or your history, but your love of transfiguration and Aristotle's Firewhiskey is admirable. And honestly, I can't even fathom what you must be going through, stuck here in what must seem like archaic times, compared to what you're used to," she said, with a shake of her head. "So I'm here for you."

Her smile was beautiful as she reached over to place a hand delicately on Hermione's shoulder, rubbing briefly with her thumb. Her touch was warm, and very comforting. Hermione placed her own hand on top of Minerva's with a murmured, "Thank you, Minerva," still shocked that the other woman would make such a statement.

"You can shorten my name, you know. I wont hex you," she informed her briskly, with a cheeky grin. She quickly grabbed a pastry and leaned back on the couch, looking at the rest of the papers Hermione had left scattered on the table. Her eyes lingered on the official one for a moment. "What did they say?" she asked.

Hermione snorted bitterly. "See for yourself," she said, handing over the offending letter. She had to admit, watching Minerva read it was rather entertaining, and by the end, she was amazed the woman hadn't accidentally set fire to the parchment - she looked so incensed.

"This is batshit," she breathed dangerously, face contorted into an angry scowl. She gaped wordlessly, eyes glaring daggers as she re-read the letter.

Hermione hummed darkly. "I got an Order of fucking Merlin for being in that resistance group," she said, far too calmly. "As did you."

Minerva's eyes snapped towards her. "Well now I'm personally insulted," she said pointedly. She shook her head and, like Hermione, threw the letter away with distaste, before moodily biting into the pastry she held. "I thought that Artlock woman was understanding," she said after a while, sounding rather disappointed. "She seemed caring, especially when she came to get me."

"It's not Yelena," Hermione explained, reaching for the Agent's personal note and handing it to Minerva. "It's Immigration. More fool them really, you don't want to get on the bad side of the Unspeakables," she chuckled.

Minerva snorted. "I really don't want to know what you lot are capable of when angry," she muttered, shaking her head. "You scare the rest of the Ministry enough as it is."

"We know," Hermione said smugly. She laughed as Minerva rolled her eyes.

"And all this is...?" Minerva asked pointing at the rest of the pamphlets.

"Advice on how to live in the 50's," she said. "Things like how to protect yourself from being recognised, should you be caught in a photograph or something," she added, remembering the security pamphlet and handing it to Minerva, considering their chosen Mastery was heavily mentioned. "I don't agree with how casually they suggest using self-transfiguration; it's a disaster waiting to happen if you're not competent in the art, yet here they speak as though just about anyone can do it. A long-term glamour charm is much easier and far less complicated."

The Transfiguration Professor groaned as she read. "Idiots," she scoffed, crinkling her nose. "I think there needs to be a warning added. It's as if they didn't even consult an expert! You need so much control for transfiguring bone, and-" she stopped herself, taking a deep and calming breath. After a moment to relax, she turned to Hermione. "You really need to learn to cut me off when I start ranting, Jean, else I'll never stop. But you need to tell Yelena at this check-in in November. She knows you have a Mastery in the subject, she'll listen to you," she told her. Minerva now had a look in her eye that Hermione knew better than to argue with. It reminded her of home. There was no stopping the woman when she was like this, although to see it on someone so young was almost adorable. "Are you going to do anything to your appearance?" she asked a moment later, cocking her head to the side.

"Dye my hair, I think," Hermione answered. "Maybe wear make-up for a change. Nothing drastic."

"You should do a London trip, then," Minerva suggested firmly. "Muggle London, I mean. The Wizarding world doesn't quite get it when it comes to all of that."

Hermione nodded, leaning back into the settee. "I will," she said. "Maybe while you're visiting your family. It'll give me something to do. Thank you," she added, "You are a wealth of knowledge."

"I do try," she grinned. "Speaking of visiting Caithness, I should probably go and pack," she said, standing up and smoothing over her skirt. "Breakfast in my room tomorrow before I leave? I'll write down a list of shops you should visit while I'm gone."

"You are wonderful, Minnie," Hermione said as they walked over to the portrait door. They said their goodbye's, before Hermione returned to the settee, summoning some parchment, ink and a quill. Since Minerva was visiting her family for a few days, she decided to start getting her life set up, and that required one of her favourite things: a to-do list.

Good God, she thought as she started writing away, this really is happening. I actually have to live here.

9th July, 1957

Hogwarts

Hermione didn't sleep well that night. It had finally sunk in that she wasn't going home, and while she could be positive and calm about it around people, being alone was a different story. Whenever she closed her eyes, she'd see her friends, and remember how lax she had become with socialising this year, meaning she hadn't seen them for a proper catch up since Christmas. And now she didn't know when, or if, she'd ever get to see them again. Regret pulsed through her veins, and guilt wound itself in a knot in her stomach. She hadn't even really missed them until now. Merlin, maybe Ron was right, she thought, groaning into her pillow, my priorities are fucked.

As it neared 3AM, and her mind was drastically turning towards wondering why the future hadn't come for her yet, despite having had decades to prepare something, she gave up on trying to get any rest. Scowling in the feeble candlelight, she stripped off the long nightgown she had purchased and transfigured it into a pair of long pyjama bottoms and a short sleeve top. If she was going to stroll around the castle in the early hours of the morning, she doubted she'd run into anyone, thus was prepared to risk wearing something not exactly era appropriate.

After getting dressed again, she nervously twisted her wand in her hand as she silently left her guest room. She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that she needed to walk and clear her head before her mind got the better of her. As she rounded the corner at the end of the guest wing corridor, she headed blindly to the left, wandering aimlessly, keeping her ignited wand tip pointed at the ground as to not wake the portraits.

Hogwarts at night was always an interesting place. Such a big old castle was made rather eerie in complete silence, and Hermione's footsteps echoed around the stone walls for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't too different from the castle she had left behind, although there were some halls she didn't recognise, and a few of the portraits were in different locations. It was strange, she mused as she descended down a staircase, to not be on the lookout for Mrs. Norris, the dreaded cat of the caretaker in her time. The feline had a habit of turning up whenever students went for a night time wander.

After Merlin knows how long, Hermione found herself absent-mindedly scratching the pear in the painting of the fruit bowl near the Hufflepuff basement. While she had no idea what had compelled her to walk to the kitchens, she was slightly peckish, now that she thought of it, and wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Maybe that would make her tired enough to get a few hours of sleep.

To her surprise, however, it appeared as though she wasn't the only one craving a night time snack. As soon as she walked in, she jumped at seeing Albus sitting at a small table, chatting with some of the elves. "Albus!" she all but squeaked, her step faltering. She turned to leave, muttering, "Sorry, I-"

"Ah, Jean," he said happily, brushing some biscuit crumbs from his beard. "Another insomniac, I take it? Please, sit, no need to leave on my account."

She took a few hesitant steps forward to the small circular table Albus was sitting at perched on the edge of the seat, feeling rather uncomfortable. Before she had too long to over-think, however, an elf appeared at her elbow. "Is Miss requiring anything?" the young elf asked, gazing up at her with huge blue eyes.

It took her a moment to register the question. "Um, yes. Tea, please," she managed to say disjointedly, running a hand through her hair. She gave the Professor a small smile, trying to focus on the present instead of the past. Well, the future. She was too tired to even begin to ponder the correct tenses when thinking of her friends. "Thank you, by the way," she said to Albus, after a silence, "For the job in Hogsmeade. Minerva told me it was a collaborative effort." She finally brought her eyes up to meet his as he smiled.

"It was no trouble," Albus said, tapping her knuckles softly. "Have you set an interview with Orla and Brandon yet?"

"The day after...today, I sent them an owl earlier," she said, remembering it was actually morning. "So tomorrow." She have a small chuckle, inwardly cursing herself once more for being awake. She had a long day ahead of her, and had been relying on sleep to get her through. Her go-to muggle energy drinks were, like so many other things she used in her usual life, non-existent at this point in history.

"Good to hear," he replied as the elf brought over a tray of tea for Hermione and a mug of hot chocolate for Albus, as well as some shortbread for them to share. "Thank you, Polly," Albus said to the creature as he took a biscuit. "Fresh out of the oven?" he asked.

"Indeed, Acting Headmaster, sir," Polly said proudly, dipping her head. "We is hoping you and the Miss enjoy."

"I'm sure we will," Hermione said to her, while mulling over Hogwarts history. She had been curious as to why Albus seemed to be running the place when she knew for a fact he wasn't the Headmaster yet. She suddenly remembered that Armando Dippet had a period of ill health during his final ten years at the helm of the school. "Dippet's got Dragon Flu, correct?" she asked Albus once Polly had gone back to the cookers.

Albus nodded. "Indeed. Again, poor fellow," he added gravely. "He assures me he will be fine come September."

Something clicked in Hermione's memory. "Try January," she said slyly. "Trust me. Then he'll be right as rain." For a while, she added in her head. After all, the man was 320.

A bout of laughter sounded from Albus, echoing around the huge room. "Oh, my dear, I could get used to having you around," he admitted quite happily. "How are you settling in?" he asked, tone turning serious. He scrutinised her from across the table over the tops of his fingertips, and she suddenly felt like a student again.

"I..." she began, not quite sure how to answer. "I don't even know. Tonight, it's … I think it's finally hit me that this – all of this – is real. I'm actually in 1957. It's been a week, and my people haven't come for me yet, and..." she trailed off, closing her eyes and willing tears not to fall. Saying it all out loud was different from internalising it. Saying it made it real, and saying it to someone merely cemented the fact. She huffed, trying to calm down. "Hence my late night wanderings," she added lamely, with a wave of her hand. "Sleep is evasive when I'm this wound up."

"Understandable," he said softly. "This must be – and will most likely continue to be – a very trying time for you." At her nod, he continued, "You are always welcome to come to me if you ever require assistance. And I am a frequent customer at The Three Broomsticks," he added, "So I'll be checking up on you."

Hermione gave a sad smile, before taking a sip of her rapidly cooling tea. "Why are you helping me so much?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes. "You don't know me, you don't know my history. Minerva was right the first day – I could be one of Grindelwald's fanatics," she smirked. While she didn't want to sound accusatory, she knew Albus was skilled in meddling and using events to his advantage, not to mention his proficiency in legilimency. Although, maybe the war had hardened her a little too much...

He chuckled. "Miss Gray, I am of the firm belief that you are not the next Vinda Rosier," he said. "And in answer to your question," Albus continued kindly, "To put it simply, it's because I have reason to trust you. While you were unconscious, I pressed into your mind with legilimency – I meant no harm, I swear to you," he added quickly, seeing Hermione's frown. "I ran a few names through your head to gauge your emotional response and based my judgement on that. I must say," he added, sounding impressed, "Your skills in Occlumency are astounding. I doubt I would have been able to press further, even if I had tried."

She should be angry with him. No, she should be furious – she knew far too much about the future, a future that he and his insane plans featured in prominently. Yet try as she might, she could understand why he did it – and, in all honesty, she would have done the same, especially where the safety of Hogwarts was concerned. She was just grateful her walls were damn-near impenetrable. "So when I heard Minerva warn you..."

"I had already assessed you, only she wasn't aware," he finished.

Hermione mulled the words over in her head. Maybe, for once, Albus didn't have an ulterior motive. Maybe he really was just taking pity on the poor girl trapped from the future. She nodded, and gave him a smile. "Well," she said, "Thank you – for everything – the medical care, letting me stay... I mean it. Merlin knows what would have happened should I have appeared anywhere else."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured, before placing a heating charm on his hot chocolate. "To new found friendships, Jean," he said, raising his mug, "Born from the most unlikeliest of circumstances."

With a smile and a laugh, Hermione raised her tea cup. "To friends, Albus." They drank their beverages, and Hermione decided to ask him another question. "What names?" At his confused look, she clarified, "The ones you ran through my head."

He looked as if he was debating internally for a moment as he took another gulp of hot chocolate. "Gellert Grindelwald," he said, after a moment, "Wilhelmina Tuft, Armando Dippet... The term 'mudblood'-" he visibly winced at having to use the word, "-And then my name, and Minerva's. I admit, I was merely curious about how and why you recognised her."

She swallowed hard, trying to think how her unconscious mind would have reacted. To her, Grindelwald, Tuft and Dippet were names from her modern history books. She guessed the former would have gotten a bit more emotion, given his low opinion of muggles. Mudblood would have incited fury. Minerva...complete adoration, most likely. It was what she thought of Albus that concerned her... Clearly, it mustn't have been too bad for him to help her, but in all honesty, her opinion of the man was rather complicated.

As if sensing what was going through her mind, Albus said, "Mine was 'resigned irritation, but no ill will', if you're curious, Jean. It was your opinion of our dear Minnie that was the eventual deciding factor."

She stared at him silently for a minute, before laughing loudly, feeling her cheeks and neck flush with mild embarrassment. Trying to not look to amused, she took another sip of tea. "Sorry," she attempted to say. "If it's any consolation, this version of you hasn't warranted the slightly negative opinion." In her mind, she could almost hear Minerva's Scottish lilt saying the word yet.

"Delighted to hear it," Albus smiled, eyes twinkling. "I know Darkness is coming, and even the Light side have internal disagreements, I'm sure," he said knowingly, his gaze piercing. After Hermione's slow nod, he helped himself to another piece of shortbread and changed the subject. "Tell me, Jean, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"London," Hermione said straight away. "There are some things I need to purchase that Hogsmeade simply does not have. And I can't resist doing a little bit of exploring," she grinned.

"I'm glad you're getting out of the castle," he said. "Do be careful on your own, wont you?" She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him and withdrew her wand. He chuckled, and held up his hands in surrender, before continuing; "When you return, the gates wont let you in, but I will be alerted to your presence. I shall come and collect you"

Hermione smiled fondly at him. This younger Albus was certainly growing on her. "Thanks, old man," she said, using Minerva's usual nickname. She snickered as he rolled his eyes, which quickly turned into her yawning. About bloody time, she thought, realising she'd be able to get a few hours before having breakfast with Minerva.

"Get some rest, Jean," Albus said, standing up and leading her to the door, hand in the middle of her back. "I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Good night, Albus," she smiled. "Sorry for interrupting your own late night wanderings, by the way. I have no idea what lead me here."

Albus chuckled. "A most welcome distraction from my own insomnia, I must admit, Jean."

With a final smile and farewell nod, she headed back up to the guest wing, feeling more and more exhausted with each damned staircase. She was asleep as soon as she dived onto her large bed, mind finally clear from the images of her friends.

30th June, 2001

Hermione's Flat, London

It was nearing midnight when Minerva finally managed to disentangle herself from sociable staff members, and she hurried to Floo over to Hermione's place, as Jean had requested so long ago. Originally, it had been 'Please feed my cat', however that had changed over the years, eventually becoming, 'Just keep him, I guess he's ours now'. She smiled at the memory of the tender kiss that had followed, absent-mindedly tracing her thin lips with her fingertips.

The flat was tiny and dark when she stepped out of the fire grate. Minerva had only ever been to Hermione's place once, and that was just after the young woman had moved in a year ago. "Lumos," she murmured, withdrawing her wand from her robes. "Lumos Maxima," she amended, realising the place was bigger than she remembered as she looked around. It was incredibly tidy, almost as if no one actually lived there, although she spied a few photographs on the walls, and yesterday's Prophet was lying open on the couch. To her left, she heard the sound of a purring cat, and she smiled. At least she wouldn't have to go chasing the half-Kneazle around the house at this late hour.

She let her wand levitate of its own accord as she knelt down to the cat-bed by the fireplace. Crookshanks was sleeping, not even aware that someone was in his owners home unannounced. "Come on, old boy," she whispered, picking him up and holding him in her arms. He yawned, sniffing her critically for a moment, before nuzzling his nose in the crook of her neck, dozing away once more. "You're coming home with me. Your mum wont be back for a while." She ignored the pang of guilt in her stomach at the thought as she reached for her wand and summoned all of his cat necessities to the small coffee table. A variety of food and food dishes sailed through the air from the kitchen, along with a plethora of toys from all corners of the flat. Minerva couldn't help but chuckle – Hermione certainly spoiled her cat. Much like Jean did with Cora, she thought fondly, remembering the beautiful tortoiseshell cat Robbie and Malcolm had bought them.

After shrinking all of Crookshanks' possessions and banishing them into a small bag in her pocket, Minerva stepped back into the fire grate, holding the still-dozing cat close. "Sorry about this, Crookshanks," she muttered. After sprinkling a bit of Floo Powder at her feet, she instructed the fire to take her to the Heads Tower at Hogwarts. She heard Crookshanks growl as they emerged into her private rooms, but he calmed after her murmured apologies and promises that she'd never make him Floo again.

"Greer!" she called, hoping her own cat was still inside the tower. She gently deposited Crookshanks on the couch as she saw her little black cat hop down the stairs, chirping happily at her owners return. Minerva picked her up and, after kissing her head in greeting, sat her down on the couch next to the large ginger addition, glad to see that neither feline seemed to have an issue with the other just yet. To her delight, Greer padded closer to the half-Kneazle and nuzzled his fluffy cheeks with her nose curiously. Smiling, Minerva left them to it and she shrugged out of her robes and banished her boots to her bedroom as she wandered over to her desk, wrinkling her nose at the amount of letters she'd ignored for most of the day. On the top of the pile, however, sat the Evening Prophet and the one letter she had opened – the one from Yelena. She frowned as she re-read it again for what felt like the hundredth time. There were two things that did not sit well with her in that ludicrous purple ink, and Merlin, was she looking forward to demanding an explanation from the Unspeakables about it tomorrow.

"Oh, Jeanie," she sighed, throwing the letter back onto her desk and palming at her weary eyes, "Who the hell did you recognise?" A large art of her wanted to curse them, whoever it was. The more rational part of her wanted to thank them - she knew Jean wouldn't have survived much longer in the past. Each day, more and more cracks had begun appearing in Jean's otherwise perfect 'Madam Gray' façade. It had been terrifying to watch.